“One of the most _beautiful_ things that ever was done, perhaps,” said
Inspector Wield, emphasising the adjective, as preparing us to expect
dexterity or ingenuity rather than strong interest, “was a move of
Serjeant Witchem’s. It was a lovely idea!
“Witchem and me were down at Epsom one Derby Day, waiting at the station
for the Swell Mob. As I mentioned, when we were talking about these
things before, we are ready at the station when there’s races, or an
Agricultural Show, or a Chancellor sworn in for an university, or Jenny
Lind, or any thing of that sort; and as the Swell Mob come down, we send
’em back again by the next train. But some of the Swell Mob, on the
occasion of this Derby that I refer to, so far kiddied us as to hire a
horse and shay; start away from London by Whitechapel, and miles round;
come into Epsom from the opposite direction; and go to work, right and
left, on the course, while we were waiting for ’em at the Rail. That,
however, ain’t the point of what I’m going to tell you.
“While Witchem and me were waiting at the station, there comes up one
Mr. Tatt; a gentleman formerly in the public line, quite an amateur
Detective in his way, and very much respected. ‘Halloa, Charley Wield,’
he says. ‘What are you doing here? On the look out for some of your old
friends?’ ‘Yes, the old move, Mr. Tatt.’ ‘Come along,’ he says, ‘you and
Witchem, and have a glass of sherry.’ ‘We can’t stir from the place,’
says I, ‘till the next train comes in; but after that, we will with
pleasure.’ Mr. Tatt waits, and the train comes in, and then Witchem and
me go off with him to the Hotel. Mr. Tatt he’s got up quite regardless
of expense, for the occasion; and in his shirt-front there’s a beautiful
diamond prop, cost him fifteen or twenty pound—a very handsome pin
indeed. We drink our sherry at the bar, and have had our three or four
glasses, when Witchem cries, suddenly, ‘Look out, Mr. Wield! stand
fast!’ and a dash is made into the place by the swell mob—four of
’em—that have come down as I tell you, and in a moment Mr. Tatt’s prop
is gone! Witchem, he cuts ’em off at the door, I lay about me as hard as
I can, Mr. Tatt shows fight like a good ‘un, and there we are, all down
together, heads and heels, knocking about on the floor of the
bar—perhaps you never see such a scene of confusion! However, we stick
to our men (Mr. Tatt being as good as any officer), and we take ’em all,
and carry ’em off to the station. The station’s full of people, who have
been took on the course; and it’s a precious piece of work to get ’em
secured. However, we do it at last, and we search ’em; but nothing’s
found upon ’em, and they’re locked up; and a pretty state of heat we are
in by that time, I assure you!
“I was very blank over it, myself, to think that the prop had been
passed away; and I said to Witchem, when we had set ’em to rights, and
were cooling ourselves along with Mr. Tatt, ‘we don’t take much by
_this_ move, anyway, for nothing’s found upon ’em, and it’s only the
braggadocia[1] after all.’ ‘What do you mean, Mr. Wield?’ says Witchem.
‘Here’s the diamond pin!’ and in the palm of his hand there it was, safe
and sound! ‘Why, in the name of wonder,’ says me and Mr. Tatt, in
astonishment, ‘how did you come by that?’ ‘I’ll tell you how I come by
it,’ says he. ‘I saw which of ’em took it; and when we were all down on
the floor together, knocking about, I just gave him a little touch on
the back of his hand, as I knew his pal would; and he thought it WAS his
pal; and gave it me!’ It was beautiful, beau-ti-ful!
Footnote 1:
Three months’ imprisonment as reputed thieves.
“Even that was hardly the best of the case, for that chap was tried at
the Quarter Sessions at Guildford. You know what Quarter Sessions are,
Sir. Well, if you’ll believe me, while them slow justices were looking
over the Acts of Parliament, to see what they could do to him, I’m
blowed if he didn’t cut out of the dock before their faces! He cut out
of the dock, Sir, then and there; swam across a river; and got up into a
tree to dry himself. In the tree he was took—an old woman having seen
him climb up—and Witchem’s artful touch transported him!”